There's
naebody in Glamerton spins like ye."
"Maybe ay and maybe no. It's no muckle that that comes till. I wadna
spin sae weel gin it warna that the Almichty pat some sicht into the
pints o' my fingers, 'cause there was nane left i' my een. An' gin ye
mak ither thrippence a week oot o' that, ye'll be turnin' the wather
that He sent to ca my mill into your dam; an' I doot it'll play ill
water wi' your wheels."
"Hoot, hoot! Tibbie, woman! It gangs sair against me to appear to be
hard-hertit."
"I hae nae doobt. Ye dinna want to _appear_ sae. But do ye ken that I
mak sae little by the spinnin' ye mak sae muckle o', that the kirk
alloos me a shillin' i' the week to mak up wi'? And gin it warna for
kin' frien's, it's ill livin' I wad hae in dour weather like this.
Dinna ye imaigine, Mr Bruce, that I hae a pose o' my ain. I hae
naething ava, excep' sevenpence in a stockin'-fit. And it wad hae to
come aff o' my tay or something ither 'at I wad ill miss."
"Weel, that may be a' verra true," rejoined Bruce; "but a body maun hae
their ain for a' that. Wadna the kirk gie ye the ither thrippence?"
"Do ye think I wad tak frae the kirk to pit into your till?"
"Weel, say saivenpence, than, and we'll be quits.
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